"What's the use of putting all that salt with the pork, Mr. Van Brunt?" said Ellen. "It wouldn't keep good without that; it would spoil very quick." "Will the salt make it keep?" "All the year round--as sweet as a nut." "I wonder what is the reason of that?" said Ellen. "Will salt make everything keep good?" "Everything in the world--if it only has enough of it, and is kept dry and cool." "Are you going to do the hams in the same way?" "No; they are to go in that pickle over the fire." "In this kettle? what is in it?" said Ellen. "You must ask Miss Fortune about that; sugar and salt and saltpetre and molasses, and I don't know what all." "And will this make the hams so different from the rest of the pork?" "No; they've got to be smoked after they have laid in that for a while." "Smoked!" said Ellen; "how?" "Why, ha'n't you been in the smoke-house? The hams has to be taken out of the pickle and hung up there; and then we make a little fire of oak chips and keep it burning night and day." "And how long must they stay in the smoke?" "Oh, three or four weeks or so." "And then they are done?" "Then they are done." "How very curious!" said Ellen. "Then it's the smoke that gives them that nice taste? I never knew smoke was good for anything before." "Ellen!" said the voice of Miss Fortune from the top of the stairs, "come right up here this minute! you'll catch your death!" Ellen's countenance fell. "There's no sort of fear of that, ma'am," said Mr. Van Brunt quietly, "and Miss Ellen is fastened up so she can't get loose; and I can't let her out just now." The upper door was shut again pretty sharply, but that was the only audible expression of opinion with which Miss Fortune favoured them. "I guess my leather curtains keep off the wind, don't they?" said Mr. Van Brunt. "Yes, indeed they do," said Ellen, "I don't feel a breath; I am as warm as a toast, too warm almost. How nicely you have fixed me up, Mr. Van Brunt." "I thought that 'ere old buffalo had done its work," he said, "but I'll never say anything is good for nothing again. Have you found out where the apples are yet?" "No," said Ellen. "Ha'n't Miss Fortune showed you? Well, it's time you'd know. Sam, take that little basket and go fill it at the bin; I guess you know where they be, for I believe you put 'em there." Sam went into the cellar, and presently returned with the basket nicely filled. He handed it to Ellen. "Are all these for me?" she said in surprise. "Every one of 'em," said Mr. Van Brunt. "But I don't like to," said Ellen; "what will Aunt Fortune say?" "She won't say a word," said Mr. Van Brunt; "and don't you say a word neither, but whenever you want apples just go to the bin and take 'em. _I_ give you leave. It's right at the end of the far cellar, at the left-hand corner; there are the bins and all sorts of apples in 'em. You've got a pretty variety there, ha'n't you?"